Saint Quatre's Home for Retired Gundam Pilots
by lithle
Summary: In an attempt to preserve his own sanity and that of his comrades, Quatre tries to gather them together. But Duo is hard to find, and Une clearly disapproves of the project, seeing the pilots as a potential threat. 2x5.
1. Preface

Authors Note: I've always been fascinated by stories in which the boys all live together after the war. Why on earth would they do that? They never seem all that close during the war itself. And yet, I'm a fond of the convention as well. So this is my attempt to explore the convention and see if I can't attempt to justify it in my own way. The story ignores Endless Waltz, but does use the Preventers as a plot device.

Pairings: 2x5. Eventual 1x3 and 4xR.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything but my words.

Quatre

They went their separate ways after the war. In truth, they'd spent little enough time together but there were those days on the Peacemillion. Little enough time, but it had meant something, hadn't it? Still, it had been only a moment in time. If there had been understanding between them, there had not been peace. Now, in peace, there was little enough understanding.

Quatre felt the ache of separation almost immediately. He, more than any of the others, was aware of the connections they shared. The webs of destiny that had once held them close did not release them merely because someone used the word 'Peace' now. Still, they did their best to pretend it was so.

For the first year, he buried himself in work. He rebuilt, invested, directed his sisters. He thought of his father, and if the anger was gone, the fear was not. He would not leave them vulnerable again. The Winner family had been powerful before the war. Quatre took that power and recast it in Gundanium. He made them unstoppable.

For the second year, he attempted to find the others. Heero and Wufei weren't difficult. Preventers had paper trails and he could beg and bully them into a quick lunch. It was at those lunches that he noticed it, saw it somewhere besides the mirror. The hunted, half wild look in their eyes, hidden beneath a thin veil of civility. It was a hidden secret thing, but over good food and hot tea, for just a breath, the veil faltered. They were comrades, who could trust to find recognition in each others gazes. A brief flicker of understanding, and it was gone.

Perfect soldiers. All of them.

He found Catherine without much difficulty. But she was fire and fury, unwilling to trust his intentions. A cat with kittens and she'd never understand that Trowa didn't need her kind of protection. Quatre didn't resent her for it. But he didn't see Trowa either. It didn't matter. The truth was there in Catherine's eyes. The pilot of Heavyarms was failing to thrive.

Duo was gone. Whispers. Hints. Places he might have been. Letters Hilde received. But no real leads. Shinigami had always excelled at going unseen.

It began to hurt. The curse of empathy. He might have tolerated it, if it was only that. But Quatre found himself no more able to settle than the others. He was haunted by the lurking promise of threat. He caught himself snapping at his sisters, found his words came short when he spoke with Rashid. He heard what was said of them, of the war, and could not explain to those around him why it drove him to the edge of fury.

They had been god-soldiers. They had followed the call of their emotions when all around them had been mad. They'd trusted themselves and each other to see clearly, in a world of the blind.

He had led them. Briefly, they had been as extensions of his will, and their safety and success had rested on his shoulders. Now Wufei and Heero hid truth behind a soldier's blank expression while Trowa and Duo repeated dodged his net of watchers.

It occurred to him that this could not last forever. Of all of them, he had thought he would have the easiest time adjusting to the new peace. And he could feel himself breaking. No, it would not last.

The third year, Quatre built. He was eighteen-years-old and one of the twenty richest men in the universe. He had homes on most the colonies and more sprinkled across Earth's surface. He was known among the people for his charity, among the business elite for his unpredictable moves in the market and for his shrewd intellect. He was known for winning, always.

Eighteen-years-old and he returned to the earth. He picked a small city, but one that had felt the touch of the war. Treize had been right. Those who had lost the most clung most strongly to peace. Sixty miles out from the city he bought 300 acres of wooded land that sat nestled at the foot of a mountain range.

He hired three different architects and five different security experts. He had them build him a fortress. It was a place of beauty, but of hard, defensible beauty. The trees were woven with cameras. The sky was watched by gun turrets. The fastest carrier shuttles ever built awaited escape into space. Dogs and lasers and doors that opened only to his voice and fingerprint and eye and code. He had each security team install their own measures and did not tell them about each other. Then he walked the forest with Rashid at night and installed further defenses. And then he did so again. Alone.

The property had five redundant security rooms from which one could watch the entire property. The Maganacs were the only logical choice to act as his forces and of those none of them was allowed to know everything. Each camera was watched each moment of each day.

From without, one saw only stretches of evergreen forest and a distant pavilion of Arabic elegance. From within, one could be a spider, aware of any vibration of the web. Room enough for five spiders, territorial though the creatures were.

Lady Une called.

He was on the porch when one of his assistants entered and indicated the vid-screen. Une had her hair down, since Treize's death, she usually did. But she was more flexible now, able to be ruthless while keeping her gentle smile.

He too, could smile so.

"Lady Une. What a pleasant surprise. We do not talk enough." He raised his cup to her and smiled. "How are you?"

"Quatre." She was radiant. Her smile, angelic. "You seem well. I hear you've settled on Earth."

"A summer home. The Earth is so beautiful. You should visit me here."

"I've heard it might be dangerous to visit." No change in her voice, no hint of hardness.

He'd been waiting for those words. Une was not in the habit of calling him socially. They spoke on occasion, when business required, but they kept no friendship. He had forgiven the heroes and villains of the war, but he had not forgotten the roles they had each played.

"There is no safer place," he murmured, sipping idly at his tea.

"Have you been threatened? We can protect you Quatre. This is unnecessary."

"You are kind to worry about me, Lady Une. But I can see to myself."

"There are some that might be concerned about a Gundam pilot with such force."

"Some would be concerned about a Gundam pilot with no force." He kept his expression mild. "I am not the only wealthy man to wish safety."

"Of course." She too, kept her smile. "Perhaps I will visit."

"You are always welcome, Lady."

And then he turned off the screen.

"Will there be problems, sir?" His assistant asked.

"No. Not yet. The Lady is only trying to protect our peace."


	2. Chapter 1

Authors Note: I've always been fascinated by stories in which the boys all live together after the war. Why on earth would they do that? They never seem all that close during the war itself. And yet, I'm a fond of the convention as well. So this is my attempt to explore the convention and see if I can't attempt to justify it in my own way.

Pairings: 2x5. Eventual 1x3 and 4xR.

Disclaimer: Obviously, I don't own anything but my words.

Heero

Stillness. That was important. Lying on his back in the silence of his room, he listened to the stillness. No sound in the small apartment. Even the air barely stirred, except to fill his lungs, and leave again.

Stillness meant safety. That wasn't true, but it was closer to safety than noise and motion. He had been told they were all safe, that this was peace. But Heero only knew how to listen to sounds of war. He thought only in the patterns the war had taught him. This was not a secure location. It wouldn't stand up to a mobile suit attack. Evacuation would take him exactly twenty-three seconds. He'd timed it.

But there would be no evacuation. His orders were clear. He was not to leave. House arrest, they'd called it. Too many incidents. Lay low for awhile.

Une said it was damage control. The woman who had killed by the roomful, who had been willing to kill by the colonyful, she had called it damage control. She said he should have adjusted by now. And she smiled, gently, as if smiling was somehow easy.

It was the man that had caused this. And he might walk again. Medical science had advanced dramatically during the war. No, a broken spine wasn't trivial, but he might walk again. He would be pressing charges, they said.

Heero could still see the man. The steps outside the embassy where Relena was scheduled to speak. The throng of the crowds, every person a potential threat and it'd only been a week since the last attempt on Relena's life. They'd argued in the car on the way there. The speech was an unnecessary risk. She didn't need to be there. And there was a protest scheduled.

The protesters were there when they arrived. Men and women waving signs and shouting. She had moved to ascend the steps, her back turned to them. A man, broad shouldered, dilated pupils indicating addiction, lurched forward screaming. He reached into his jacket. And Heero moved. He had been warned against gun use unless no other options existed. So he'd broken the man's spine. It wasn't an accident. It was the looming threat of the hand he couldn't see, it was the protestors: fat, foolish, ungrateful sheep (he was not allowed to think that, though), it was the argument in the car. It was listening, every moment of every day, for the sound of war and hearing it there for a moment in the crowd.

Now it was still. It'd been two weeks and he had lain in the stillness and run scenarios through his head. He thought of possible threats to the location. Ways to neutralize them. He didn't know what else to do with the silence.

Relena had come by, twice. He had taken advantage of her visits to instruct her guards. They had listened and saluted. He knew they had fought in the war, and that they would give their life for Relena, their emblem of peace. But he watched their eyes when they came in and they had not noted all the exits.

A car rumbled to a stop on the street beneath the window. Someone exited. Not Relena. Familiar, though. Something in the footstep. Not Une, not Sally, not Noin. Not Wufei, but definitely masculine. The knock was polite but insistent. Quatre.

Yes. Warm blue eyes and when he opened the door, a smile. There was a jolt when their eyes met. He'd felt it before, when he'd worked with Wufei. Quatre noted every exit before he walked in. It was that. It was a certain level of trust.

"Why are you here?" The Preventers gave classes in small talk, in putting a subject at ease. Heero had not done well.

"Heero. I'm so sorry." Quatre touched him lightly, on the hand, and his expression was difficult for him to read. Heero could see joy there, to be expected of Quatre, but there was something else. Something like the release after a hard won battle, "They've been keeping this locked up pretty tight. I only found out yesterday. And then the negotiations-."

Heero tried to restring the words into a meaningful series and failed. "Why are you here?"

"Quatre's expression broke into another smile, "I worked it all out. You're on an indefinite vacation. I'm taking you home."

"Relena-" But Quatre cut him off.

"No, Heero. They'll keep you here as long as they can, then they'll hide you on a colony close enough to monitor but far enough for everyone else to forget about. I have, that is, I made us a place. It's safe."

There was no point in arguing what was, in the end, a conclusion that Heero had already come to. And a safe place? Such a strange choice of words. "How long?"

Quatre just shook his head, "Where do you store Zero? I have a carrier."

As they traveled back to the new base Heero listened as Quatre briefed him on the security measures taken to protect the location and began to understand the usage of 'safe' in its description. He would check the measures personally, when he arrived. But it was the sort of security that would take a Gundam to surpass. The sort that only a Gundam pilot might build. Which meant, he realized, that actually securing the location would mean gathering all the Gundams and their pilots.

"Why?" He asked, because Quatre couldn't have missed that fact either. He had been gathered.

"I love the Peace." Quatre's voice was low, woven through the hum of the shuttle. "I- we all fought so hard. But I am not," and he smiled as if he too had heard Une's lecture, "adjusting well. Maybe the Peace will do better if the warriors don't get in the way."

Quatre

It was gratifying, showing Heero around. Seeing Zero next to Sandrock in the hanger was a relief in itself, but better still was seeing Heero settle into the security room attached to his quarters. Quatre could see the tension drain from him as his fingers danced over the keys. Which wasn't to say that Heero relaxed. 01, he was quite sure, wasn't familiar with the word. But there had been a hunted anxiety about him when they had met and it left him. It left Quatre too. That twist in his heart where empathy lay.

Still three more. But Heero was their heart. So they would come. Wouldn't they?

No sign from Trowa or Duo. That made Wufei the inevitable next target, but Quatre was at a loss when it came to approaching Shenlong's pilot. Wufei had always been the most solitary of their number.

So he watched Heero. The other pilot spent the first few days as Quatre had, roaming the grounds and checking the security, moving cameras, making adjustments, grilling the men on duty. Quatre was able to catch him only once a day, eating. At those times, he'd join him in the kitchen and offer to cook. Left to his own devises, Heero would gnaw at whatever came most quickly to hand, Quatre entered once to find him absently finishing off a jar of marmalade, one spoonful at a time.

After he'd settled, Heero only paced the grounds twice a day, and spent only a few hours in his security center. He spent the other hours training or sleeping or... at first Quatre wasn't sure what it was that Heero was doing. He would walk the forests, sit by the ponds, lie in the grass and do it all with a sort of childish wonder.

He seemed happy, in those moments. Quatre, observing, began to understand. Heero's childhood, from what he knew of it, had not been a privileged or warm one. Life in the colonies, especially those most focused on industry, offered only the beauty to be found in cold steel and glass. That even Heero, perhaps especially Heero, would crave a connection with nature made sense.

The single success, and he wanted very much to see Heero as such, was enough to encourage him to try a second time, unsure of the results though he was. He waited in the kitchen, shooing away the chef, and when Heero came in, he greeted him with a bowl of beef stew and a cup of coffee.

Heero grunted his thanks. "Have you located them?"

"I've got my people watching Catherine, now. It shouldn't be long. The circus will be touring again soon."

"Duo?"

Quatre simply shook his head.

"And Wufei?"

He nearly shook his head a second time. Stopped. "Heero? What do you think of this place?"

"You planned it well."

Of course. Tactically sound. Well, it didn't matter.

But Heero set down his cup, and met Quatre's gaze. "It feels like I thought peace would."

The words sang in his ears, and his smile was unguarded, childish. They could have their peace too.

"I think you should talk to Wufei. He won't come if I ask him."

"I'll have him here by Friday."


	3. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Right, the continuing saga of Quatre and his attempts to heal the world. All the boys struck me as having martyr complexes to certain levels, but Quatre's always seemed to be particularly intense. Anyway, in this chapter Wufei joins the team and the mystery of Duo is introduced. Hopefully no one is upset by the lack of a long courtship between the boys. Perhaps later, in flashbacks, the start of their relationship will be explained.

Pairings: 2x5, eventual 1x3 and 4xR

Disclaimer: I only own the words.

Wufei

He watched Duo dress: the slide of fabric over skin, the way his muscles flexed and relaxed as he pulled on his shirt. Duo was too thin. He was always too thin. Wufei's eyes were slits as he watched and he kept his breathing carefully even. Duo would not want to be watched leaving.

In the silence of the darkened room, Wufei watched the tension return to Duo's body. It was always like this, Duo only ever relaxed for a brief, shuddering second, only stayed until he thought Wufei was sleeping. Wufei didn't know what secrets kept the other tightly wound and wired. He knew that Deathscythe's pilot always arrived with a smile, playing the part. Sometimes, he talked, saying nothing. Other times, Due was at his most high key, evasive and laughing. At such times, the sex was frantic, demanding, and brutal.

Last night had been one of those times. And now, as Duo finished covering his sex bruised flesh, he turned in the darkness to face the bed where Wufei lay.

Were he anyone else, Wufei would have lost control of his careful illusion of sleep, would have inhaled a moment to long, or let his eyelids flutter. Duo had never turned back. He always slipped out of bed, a shadow among shadows, dressed with his back turned, and walked out. He never even glanced over his shoulder. But he was turned to face the bed, his eyes bright in the slanting moonlight.

There was something haunted, or hunted about Duo's expression. Wufei couldn't figure out if he looked sad, or scared. Then a slow smile spread across his face, his typical grin, unreadable, impenetrable. He shook his head, still grinning, and turned away. There was no listening to him leave. Duo was like a wraith, no footsteps, no closing door. Just lingering warmth and silence. Wufei allowed himself to sleep.

He woke to the insistent beep of an incoming call. Irritated, he hit it for audio only, the bruises on his chest were clearly from teeth.

"Wufei." Heero's voice.

"Yuy." He hadn't seen Heero since the pilot's suspension from the Preventers. He'd confronted Une on the issue, but no amount of yelling would make that woman see reason. "I would have broken his neck. Where are you?"

"On a shuttle. I'll be there in two hours. Be ready to leave."

Wufei turned toward the screen, startled. "I don't take my missions from you, Yuy."

"This isn't a mission." Heero's voice was strange. Thoughtful? No. But there was something there.

"Yuy?" He felt off balance. He didn't like not knowing.

"You're leaving the Preventers. Quatre has a place for us now. I'll be there in two hours."

For a moment, Wufei was dumbstruck. It was such an impossible, idle statement. Heero spoke with such conviction. He usually did.

"Une will bring you back in. She's a fool. But she isn't that stupid."

"I won't be coming back." Heero's words were utterly without hesitation. "You have sensitivity training next week?"

Wufei felt his hands ball into fists. "Yes."

"How many times is that?"

"Thirty-six." Thirty-six excruciating times.

"They can't fix us Wufei. We don't belong to this peace."

Anger, a flicker of it flaring quickly to bright flames. Anger like a building burning in the night. He glared at the blank screen where Heero's face should have been. "This peace cost us everything."

"Including our place in it." Heero's voice, unlike Wufei's, remained cool and level. "They don't want us blowing things up anymore."

"And you'll leave Relena unprotected?" It was almost beyond comprehension. Heero had stood guard for the girl through the war, at risk, sometimes, to the war itself.

"She is the peace. They'll protect her as the peace should be protected." The confusion in Heero's voice was obvious. "We killed for the peace. They don't want us killing to keep it."

Neither of them spoke.

"Two hours, Wufei. I'll be loading your Gundam. Meet me there." The connection cut out.

Wufei walked, stunned, into the shower. The water was cold, and did nothing to clear his head.

Sensitivity training. Stupid, menial, assignments. Meaningless reprimands.

But it was their peace. They had made it. It should be theirs. Should be his. Hadn't he given enough to it? Enough blood? Enough of his soul?

In uniform, because it best hid the results of last nights activities, Wufei made his way into the kitchen. There was a note on the counter. Duo left them frequently. Their contents were random.

Lascivious compliments: "Love that thing you do with your tongue."

Promises of return: "Take off the third Tuesday of February."

News: "Tell Quatre I saw Trowa in Australia."

The note was written on the back of a receipt in red ink: "I won't be coming back here. Sorry."

Wufei stood very still, rereading the words. His fingers spasmed. The note crumpled, fell back on the counter. Duo had never promised anything so foolish or sentimental as fidelity or love. He had never given Wufei anything of himself, not even an explanation of his infrequent visits. Still, Wufei had become accustom...

He turned away from the kitchen. Dialed Heero.

01 stared through the screen with his usual intensity. Wufei suspected there was something he was missing, but his mind spun with other matters.

"I'll come."

Quatre

He hadn't expected Heero to succeed. He should have, Heero always did. But when Wufei stepped out of the carrier, Quatre stood shocked for a moment before stepping forward to greet him.

"Wufei. I'm glad you could come." And, as Wufei didn't welcome touch, Quatre bowed. He was gratified to receive a bow in return.

"Heero has been telling me of this place. You think it's safe?" The challenge in Wufei's voice was unmistakable, but Quatre expected it from him.

"Not yet. Safer than other places, but I haven't found Trowa or Duo."

Something there, and Quatre wasn't sure if it was something to be read on Wufei's face or something he sensed. It was gone quickly, leaving a lingering sense of hunger. No. Loneliness. Yes. It must have been loneliness. That could be fixed.

"You think you'll find them?" Wufei was asking.

"I have to try." He would find them, he knew he would. It was only a matter of time; his watchers couldn't be evaded forever. He led Wufei through the hallways, the cameras turning to follow them as they walked.

"Huh."

"This is your room, Wufei. You're next to the library. I've been telling Heero he should read more. Walden Pond, maybe." He gave Wufei a hopeful glance. "Maybe you'll have more luck. You're the scholar."

For a moment, Wufei's expression almost softened as the Warrior allowed the Student a moment's breath. "Not since before the war."

"Well, the library is there." Quatre repeated. "And Heero's education begins and ends at battle tactics and maneuvers."

It was the right sort of attack. Of course it was, Quatre had been a Gundam pilot too. He was no more accustomed to losing than the others. Wufei looked appalled.

"Why Thoreau?"

"Watch him in the forest, sometime."

He spent the next handful of days watching Wufei as he had watched Heero. It wasn't as gratifying. He followed much the same patterns. He checked the security; he trained in the practice rooms. He even perused the library. But no barrier left him. Quatre thought he seemed less angry, but no more relaxed. There were no moments of ease that reached him in the dappled sunlight of the forest. He didn't smile.

It went back to when he'd arrived, Quatre thought. He'd been hiding some pain then, and he hid it still, now. Whatever it was, it wasn't only the aftershocks of war. It was something Quatre couldn't reach, couldn't decode.

He found Heero swimming in the small lake on the property. 01 was floating on his back, water droplets sparkling on his bare skin like stardust. It was a peaceful moment, and Quatre was loath to spoil it. He so seldom saw his comrades at peace.

Heero sensed him nonetheless, turning in the water to face the shore. But he did not do it as quickly as he was capable, and he didn't arm himself. Wasn't armed beyond being the weapon he was.

"Have you spoken with Wufei?" Quatre asked, unsure of what he wished to say.

"Yes."

Trust Heero to be loquacious, "Does he seem unhappy to you?"

Heero looked at him blankly.

Stranger among his own kind. Quatre missed Duo, who would at least pretend to understand. He tried again.

"I think he's lonely."

"Quatre," Heero's voice was still cold, disinterested, "You can't fix us."

And there was nothing to say to that.

When he went back inside, there was a message waiting from Une. Quatre tried not to think of Heero's cold expression as he dialed her back. He tried, instead, to think of how he looked floating in the water, at peace.

She was not smiling. No, the claws weren't hidden this time.

"Quatre, I let you have Heero. It was only a matter of time before he killed someone important. But Wufei? We didn't agree to that."

"And Heero is being rehabilitated as I promised. Wufei came here at his recommendation. I was not aware that we were required to work for your organization."

"You're not," she admitted through clenched teeth.

"Nor was I aware that we weren't allowed to gather peacefully. I thought amnesty was general."

"It was," she confirmed, without conviction.

"We aren't the only ones who committed war crimes, Lady," he said, his tone still polite.

"Quatre." Her words were hard. "You now have three of the five original Gundam pilots. There are those who would say you're amassing an army."

He leaned back, folding his hands calmly in his lap, "Well, that's just ridiculous."

"Is it?"

"Of course. Lady Une, I already _have_ an army." He let his amusement color his voice, laughter dancing along the knife edge of his words. "And they've always served me faithfully. You know that the Gundam pilots can't be depended on."

She returned his grin with her own strained attempt at a smile. "Clearly."

"Was there anything else, Lady?"

She fell still as something like her usual kindness rose up to cover the hardness in her eyes. It rang false. "Have you had any luck finding Duo?"

"No. Nor Trowa."

"Perhaps I could help. If we share information, we might locate them more quickly."

"Lady, you are kind. But at the moment, I have nothing. I will contact you when I have information to share."

Now her smile was genuine. It was, in fact, triumphant. "I do want to help you boys. We owe you so much."

"Not for years, Lady. We're only citizens of the peace, now."

He sat in the silence long after Une signed out, considering her words. If she didn't want the pilots gathering together, then she didn't want to help him find Duo and Trowa. No, Duo. She had said Duo. It was only when he mentioned Trowa that she'd said 'them'. What did she want with his information on Duo?

He remembered then, the spark of pain he'd felt from Wufei when he'd arrived. It had flared when he'd brought up Trowa and Duo. Had it been called up by the mention of Duo? He remembered again, Heero's words, 'You can't fix us.'

But he would. He'd fix all of them, himself included. And for Wufei, that seemed to mean figuring out what haunted Duo's name.


	4. Chapter 3

Author's Note: Sorry this chapter didn't go up as quickly as the others. Trowa is, in fact, fairly difficult for me to write, and I won't be surprised if some of you disagree with my interpretation of him. To me, he's always seemed like such a malleable, submissive character that I'm surprised that so many people write him as the big strong seme to Quatre's delicate uke. But I suppose we all have our individual ways of interpreting things. This story is starting to get away from me, and take unexpected turns. A good sign. That's my favorite part of writing.

Disclaimer: I own only my words.

Dedication: To Noz, who sent me tea and in so doing lifted my depression enough to allow me to write this. And to the reviewer, reb, who said that this is written in a 'terse, unadorned style' because that sounds so much nicer than the way I describe it, which is as 'the most boring Gundam Wing fic ever'.

Trowa

Trowa was in the tiger's pen. He lay there, stretched out, his head pillowed in the fur of Greta, who mostly ignored him. The pens smelled of predators, a thick, bitter musk. It was soothing. It smelled like something dangerous, and there was some comfort to knowing, without needing to question or second guess, that one's life was in danger. Greta had never turned on him. But she could.

He understood. He knew what it was to feel restless and strained. When he stood on the high-wire he could not see faces in the crowds below him. Everything was blurred, just a sense of chaos and noise. Only when someone moved in a way that echoed old memories of threat could he see clearly, could see that one person in sharp relief against a background like a watercolor wash. At such times, it was difficult to look away. He became transfixed by the sense of danger, unable to bury it, unable to act. It was like being undercover. Like his time with Lady Une. But it went on forever, and would.

"Trowa?" He looked up to see Catherine standing on the other side of the enclosure. He followed her with his eyes, forcing himself to see details beyond the blur of 'not threat' that she represented. She was frowning at him. She usually was, and he was unsure of what it was he did that disappointed her. He thought he played his expected role quite well.

"Rehersal?" he asked, sitting up as Greta growled in mild irritation.

"No." She sounded- sad? Yes. And angry. "Trowa, you're not happy."

He continued to watch her, not evading or pretending otherwise. He watched her now as he watched the great cats he worked with, with intent care. Generally, it worked better with the cats. Their actions could be relied upon and predicted. People were more difficult.

"Could you be happy here?" she asked. The sadness was overcoming the anger in her words. She was approaching the cage now, wringing her hands.

"I didn't know I was supposed to be."

She inhaled, a sharp, wounded sound. "I thought we'd be a family, Trowa. But Quatre's right."

The world grew clearer at the name, details coming into view. Quatre. Someone he understood, someone who could not be fooled by a façade. Someone real. "You talked to Quatre?"

"You can't stay here." She spoke as if she hadn't heard him. "Not if you could be happy somewhere else."

She grabbed his hand through the bars and squeezed it. "You'll always be my brother. You can come home whenever you're ready."

There were tears in her eyes, and her breaths had taken on a shaky uneven quality. When she rushed from the tent, he thought about chasing after her, finding some series of right words to give comfort. But he'd never known how to do that.

It was then that Quatre entered. There was no sense of threat about him, no need to tense to readiness and then disguise the impulse. Yet Quatre was real, maybe the only real thing in the tent, the only real thing he'd seen since the war had ended. The other pilot moved with confidence and control. He smiled at Trowa, and there was nothing behind that smile, nothing to be read from it, no coded set of instructions on how he must now act. Quatre's gaze was tired, the sort of tired that came from living always ready, always in wait. It was discomfiting, like glancing in a mirror and catching a glimpse of his soul instead of his face.

"Trowa!" The moment ended, and Quatre ran quickly across the enclosure as Trowa exited the tigers' pen. Trowa accepted the enthusiastic hug without comment, glad in some way to see his comrade's smile.

"I wasn't expecting you."

Quatre was still boyish despite the years it'd been since he'd last seen him. This was not the refined businessman he'd seen on the news but the heart sore soldier who had played the violin for him, who had killed time and again all while hating the act, because he saw it as necessity.

"I'm taking you home. Catherine said I could have you. She called me."

He smiled again. Trowa, watching him, almost smiled too in the face of that happiness. Not because it was simple joy, but because it wasn't. It was an expression he could understand.

He felt no impulse to question Quatre's words. He had fallen into the circus after the war because Catherine had asked him. Now he would leave because Quatre requested it. There was no need to complicate things.

"I've missed you." He considered a moment. "Missed everyone."

"They're waiting too." Quatre promised as they walked out of the tent. "I've made a place. For all of us. Wufei and Heero are there now, waiting."

A memory of shadow and a wild, manic grin. "Duo?"

Quatre's expression lost some of its glow. "I can't find him. It's like he doesn't exist anymore."

"I saw him once. He was in the audience during Catherine's knife throwing act, just at the edge of my vision." He'd turned his head, and nearly lost the tip of his nose. By the time the show was over, Duo was gone.

"I'll find him." Quatre's expression shifted to reveal the soldier that had led them into battle, who had used the Zero system without being overcome by it. Trowa believed him, would have believed far more outrageous statements.

"Is this a mission, Quatre?" They were out under the colony's artificial sky now, with imaginary constellations offering guidance to nowhere. It was strange to look around, to see clearly the world he had been living in, one that had seemed to exist only on the other side of a heavy gauze veil.

"No. I'm making us a peace. Maybe we can't have the same one as everyone else. But we can have something. We deserve something. You'll come, won't you?"

"I'll show you where Heavyarms is stored."

Quatre

The night that he returned with Trowa at his side, the other pilot requested in his quiet, simple way, that Quatre play something. He settled at the piano after little more encouragement and though he would have enjoyed having Trowa accompany him, he knew he could ask some other time. As it was, Wufei and Trowa were revisiting old chess rivalries. Such a normal moment, and in being so, it was almost unsettling.

There was Trowa, studying the placement of Wufei's bishop. There was Heero, sitting in the corner of the room, reading Walden's Pond with all the intensity that he had once studied mission plans. Wufei was to be thanked for that, and Quatre made a note to discuss Heero's further education with him in the near future. All of them, together, alive, without the world demanding that they shed blood for peace or shed their natures to remain in it.

But no one was smiling. Where was Duo, who should be sitting on the arm of the couch, second guessing Wufei's moves, or improvising dirty lyrics as Quatre played Mozart? Where was he that he couldn't see or chose to ignore the coded messages that Quatre had been scattering across the colonies? Wherever he was, was he smiling? Was he at peace?

The last question had an answer. The ache in Quatre's chest had not yet left him.

Finishing the piece with a flourish, Quatre did his best to push the problem of Duo to the back of his mind. Here were his comrades, all but one, and he should be enjoying their company. Maybe they weren't smiling, but they weren't unhappy either.

Trowa and Wufei were on their third game, with each having won one so far. By Wufei's expression, he was losing the current round. Trowa's attacks were often quick, instinctive and fierce, but if Wufei was more studied, he was also more brutal, willing to sacrifice his own pieces to take Trowa down. Quatre watched them as they acted out war on a miniature scale, and wondered if they would always be drawn to such activities. It was a dark thought, but one interrupted and forgotten when Trowa glanced up at him, his eyes lazy and half lidded. He wore the expression of the tiger that Quatre had found him with and Quatre thought that if he put his ear against Trowa's chest he would feel the low rumble of a purr.

Why was it Trowa, who had only just arrived, who seemed the most at ease? When Quatre had found him he'd been staring through the bars of a cage. His face had held no expression, but Quatre had felt the cornered desperation that screamed from him. Now here he was, apparently unmasked, the circus persona and the paranoid solder both gone. What was he, now?

What were any of them?

A week passed before he had the opportunity to invite Trowa to spar with him in the gym. While fighting, Trowa moved like art, elegant and easy on the mats. He bested Quatre, who did most of his sparring in conference calls and board rooms, without difficulty. They kept fighting, and halfway through their third round he sensed a watcher and spotted Heero at the edge of the mats. He wore his usual intense expression mingled with a puzzled sort of curiosity.

A sudden kick to the side of the head jarred Quatre's vision, and by the time he managed to hold up a hand to still the fight, Heero had left.

"You're injured?" Trowa asked.

"No, no. I'm fine. Heero was here."

"Is that a problem?"

"I just thought he might want to join us. But he left." Quatre rolled his shoulders, feeling his muscles loud protest to the unexpected abuse. "We'll have to do this again soon. I'm out of practice."

"We have our roles. I couldn't beat Wufei in armed combat or you at chess."

Quatre looked up from stretching, "Or Heero at what?"

"Or Heero at anything."

"Being human?"

"Who would judge?" There was no bitterness in Trowa's voice, which almost made the words worse. He deserved to be bitter. "What do any of us know about it?"

"Maybe we'll figure it out. Given time."

Trowa looked at him, did a few experimental backflips, and looked at him again. "You don't believe that. You know that's not what you're really trying to do."

"What am I doing, then?" Quatre asked. Trowa's words, thoughtful and unadorned, were far more painful than the kick that had so recently connected with the side of his face.

"I don't know." Trowa closed the space between them, stood less than an arms length away. "The right thing. I trust you."

Quatre left Trowa to continue his gravity defying exercises after that, feeling tired and uneasy.

He retreated to the library, surprised at his initial displeasure at finding Wufei there. 05 was no better than the others, and he didn't need more to trouble his thoughts. Enough to hear Heero blandly announce the hopeless nature of this mission and have Trowa tell him that he lacked understanding of his own goals.

What was he trying to do? He'd told Une he would rehabilitate Heero. He'd told himself that he was giving them a peace. A place to heal. But what if they weren't broken? What if, as Trowa implied, they were simply other? Could what they had been and done have so transformed them?

"Quatre?" The text that Wufei was annotating was in Chinese. His hand rested on the open book, his eyes darted around the room, avoiding a shared gaze.

"Yes?" He swallowed his momentary irritation and self pity. It would only interfere.

"Duo has been coming to Earth at irregular intervals. I do not believe he has been off planet for more than four months at a stretch."

The human reaction would be anger, wouldn't it? After all, he'd been tearing the Earth and the known universe apart looking for Shinigami, and Wufei hadn't even so much as raised an eyebrow. The human thing to do would be to demand any and all information from Wufei, immediately.

"Oh. Is he well?"

"Some signs of malnourishment. As we all were, when we had to make do with field rations."

Quatre fell heavily into a chair. Wufei's gaze was now fixed firmly on his book. He hadn't stopped taking notes.

"If he's returning regularly, he must have a base here."

"That is my belief." Wufei underlined something heavily. "But it's only a theory."

"I will inform my agents to focus their attention on earth, then." Quatre picked a book at random off the table nearest him. He opened it and began to read, despite the fact that he did not, in truth, speak German.

"If I knew where he was, I would tell you," Wufei said.

"Did he ask you to keep this information quiet?"

Quatre felt a sharp spike in the dull background of simmering anger that was Wufei's way of processing pain. He dug his fingers into the cover of the book, and tried to ignore it.

"No. Duo never asked me for anything."


	5. Chapter 4

Authors Note: I know some of you must have been expecting Duo's chapter, and I'm sorry to disappoint. There was one more player that needed to be introduced to the game. I hope that people don't find Relena's characterization too troublesome. She grew and matured so much during the show that I can only imagine that she continued to do when it ended. The flow of this chapter's a bit different, mostly because it covers a much shorter period of time.

Disclaimer: Words are mine, characters and world are not.

Relena

As the former queen of the world and current symbol for peace in the universe, it did not do for Relena to lose her temper. Oh, the position was a worthwhile one, and the luxuries she was allowed were vast. Anger just didn't happen to be one of them. No, Relena forgave. Relena understood. Most of all, Relena smiled. When she contemplated anger, she did so wistfully, as some other girl might contemplate a beautiful but expensive gown. As she stood between her bodyguards and a crew of four Maganacs on the border of Quatre's estate Relena was feeling... wistful.

They were arguing, of course. Each set talking, voices raised as if volume alone might make their side victorious. But no one was listening, and for all the progress being made the men might as well have been dogs chasing their tails. It was like a political meeting, really, and Relena had enough politics without her guards acting them out for her.

"Again, she is an invited guest and you are making her late." Davidson, the blonder of her two bodyguards, was saying.

"She is an honored guest." One of Quatre's men began to say at the same time. "We have a car for her. The Master is waiting. You are welcome to wait for her in the gatehouse." It was the third time he'd rephrased the same statement and pointed to the same building.

"Vice Foreign Minister Darlian goes nowhere without protection." It was the fourth time her second guard, Marte, had said those exact words.

And round and about it went. Relena was starting to hear a dull roaring hum as they barked at each other. She wasn't even sure if it was an oncoming headache or an actual noise. The men certainly seemed unaware of it.

"Gentlemen." With the Maganacs on their fifth repetition and poor Marte on his seventh it seemed no progress was going to be made. "Clearly you're all concerned about some as yet unnamed threat but, really. I am going to visit my friends, all of whom are Gundam pilots. Surely my two guards pose little threat and equally clearly I'm not going to need them while visiting Heero."

"With due respect Vice Foreign Minister, if Heero saw you alone, well, he gave us strict orders not to leave your side."

"And Master Quatre was very clear that only invited guests were allowed to enter the grounds."

So that was what this was about. Everyone afraid of the big, bad Gundam pilots. Was she the only one who didn't cower at the thought of their anger? Even Une had-

The roaring was growing louder and at last it seemed the others could hear it. Eight weapons were pulled and aimed into the trees. Nice to see them agreeing on that much, at least. When Heero came into view on the slender deer track she almost laughed with joy and relief. The last thing she needed was an attack on her life to prove Davidson and Marte right.

He brought the motorcycle to a stop between the two bickering groups. If he noticed the nervous way they re-secured their weapons, he didn't show it. But he never did, did he?

"Vice Foreign Minister Darlian."

"Preventer Yuy."

"I will escort you to the house. Men, stand down."

Both sides of the ridiculous stalemate visibly relaxed. Quatre's men returned to the car, her men saluted. They wore matching expressions of dreamy admiration, the same look all Preventers seemed to get around Heero. Grown men looking like she had at fifteen. It was hard to hide her smile.

"Sir?" Davidson had the presence of mind not to drool as Relena took the helmet from Heero's outstretched hand.

"I'll return her to the gatehouse when her visit ends. Consider yourselves on temporary leave until I contact you."

"Yes, sir."

Relena climbed onto the back of the bike and wrapped her arms around Heero's waist as they whipped through the trees, the road rough, but Heero's expert handling removing any sense of danger. She held him tightly and fell into the thrill of the moment, giddy yet relaxed until he brought the bike to a stop in front of the lovely white mansion Relena had only viewed at a distance until that point.

"I should have arrived earlier," Heero stated as he took off his helmet.

"Oh Heero, the boys were only trying to impress you. It wasn't a bother. I am glad you showed up, though. Did you have to train them to be so stubborn?"

"They have to take your safety seriously. Relena, you don't realize how important you are."

"You know that's not true." She looked at him, grinned even as he remained expressionless. Still smiling she gave him a quick hug, all the more happy when he returned the gesture. "Let's not argue. I've missed you. The boys are nice and all, but-"

"They should have reacted to my coming earlier. I'll explain their lapse when we go back."

"I was going to say that they're a bit thick, actually. Really, Heero, look at me!" She opened her arms and spun in place. "No bullet holes. You worry like an old woman."

He didn't smile, but she'd learned to recognize the softening of his expression. He offered his arm and she took it, let him lead them to the ornately carved front door.

"You know, there was a time when I would have given anything to walk with you like this," she mused as they reached the door.

"You were young. And going through a traumatic adjustment."

She laughed then, "You sound like you've been seeing a psychiatrist."

"Not since the Preventers." It would have been easy to miss the bitter note in his words, but Relena knew Heero better than anyone.

"I'm sorry, Heero. I didn't realize it was so hard for you."

No response, and there was no point in pressing the issue. Maybe it didn't matter, as long as he was happy now. Even if it meant she was left with Davidson and Marte for the rest of her life.

Quatre

They looked like the peace. Relena was smiling, her hand resting lightly on Heero's arm, and Heero was doing his best to respond to her words, even nodding at occasional intervals.

"Vice Foreign Minister, I'm so glad you could come." Quatre wanted to run forward and hug the composed, beautiful young woman. But things being what they were, there was no telling the actual intent of Relena's visit.

"Quatre!" The reservations were obviously one sided, she released her hold on Heero and stepped forward to squeeze him in an enthusiastic embrace. "None of these silly titles, please, unless you want me to start calling you 'Chief Executive Office Winner'."

"Of course, Relena. Well, I'll let you and-" But Heero was already walking away down the hallway, his mission complete. "Or maybe I'll entertain you until the others feel a bit more social. They usually come out of hiding around dinner."

She placed her hand on his arm as she had on Heero's before him. "That's fine. I'm used to it."

"Maybe you can give me some pointers, then." He led her into the living room, where Wufei and Trowa's chess board sat waiting the players' return. "Would you care for a game?"

"Oh, god no." Relena gave the board a dirty look as she settled herself in an overstuffed arm chair, tucking her feet up under her like a young girl. "I feel like been playing one long game of chess since I turned fifteen. And you'd win besides."

"I don't know about that. You're the queen. I'm a knight, at best." He settled on the couch across from her and indicated to his assistant that they would need drinks.

"Heero would say I'm the king. He's convinced that if I get knocked out, the game ends."

"I like to think the peace will survive the individuals that created it." Quatre picked each of his words with care. Relena was projecting an unhappiness she was barely bothering to hide. She smiled as she spoke, but only as a reflex. "But I do wonder."

"Are we talking politics already?" Bitterness laced her easy laughter like poison dusted on a sweet. "Come on Quatre. Tell me about kittens or the color blue. Anything." Her expression grew more serious, "Tell me how they are."

"I think this place is good for them. For me. I don't know for how long, but I think we need it."

"Good." Her tone was soft, contemplative. "I wish I had thought of it."

"It was something that had to be done by one of us."

"Of course. And then the rest of us don't even get an invitation." Her lips took on an exaggerated pout. "Really, I feel like a six-year-old looking at a sign that says 'No Girls Allowed'."

"Relena, I would pay you to stay." He meant to match her pout with laughter, but was surprised to find a serious edge to the statement. "I live with Trowa, Wufei, and Heero."

"Poor Quatre. I didn't even think." Her giggles were at odds with the sympathy in her eyes, and it was the giggling that faded. "Is it so bad?"

"No, of course not. This is what I wanted. But if I didn't talk to myself I wouldn't hear anyone's voice, I think." He shook his head, trying and failing to negate the loneliness in his voice. "They're doing better, really. Trowa seems to smile, sometimes. And Wufei is developing a dry sense of humor."

"By which you mean that Trowa doesn't glare like the other two, and Wufei is so mean it's almost funny."

"Well, yes." He glanced around the room then, reassuring himself that the other pilots weren't about to approach. They wouldn't understand that a person could love something, and still be driven insane by it.

"You need Duo," Relena stated. The words were thoughtful, almost idle. Quatre saw none of the slyness that Une had displayed.

"More than you know." He kept his words simple despite her apparent innocence on the subject.

"Quatre, I feel horrible. Here I was envying you and you sound like you're just about going mad."

"No. I'm very happy. Maybe my conversational skills are just a bit rusty."

"That settles it." She crossed her arms around her chest, looking for all the world like the haughty young rich girl that she was so much more than. "I'm staying the week. I've wanted to take a few days off."

"You're a goddess." Quatre threw the praise out playfully, hiding just how relieved he was at the idea of having a little company.

She mimed horror, "Never say that again! It's hard enough having people who still want to call me Queen."

"Is it so bad?" He echoed her earlier words.

She shook her head, her smile brightening even as her eyes darkened. "No. Just like you, I'm very happy."

That sat in silence. Quatre couldn't guess at what she might be thinking. For his part, he was starting to realize that the walking wounded extended beyond the little family he was trying to protect. But Relena still had the game to play. There would be no hiding her away in Neverland. Just like Wendy, she might visit, but she couldn't stay.

"What do you do for fun here, other than play chess?" Her words broke the quiet between them, and she leaned forward, moving a knight out to start a game.

"Beat each other up. Heero spends a lot of time in the woods." He moved a pawn into play. "What do you want to do, while you visit?"

"I think I'll watch TV. It's about time I caught up on my love life, anyway." She contemplated the board as she spoke, as if even this second move was crucial.

"We should have a torrid affair. It'd be good for ratings." He watched as she moved a pawn forward, her fingertip resting lightly on the white marble until she was sure of her choice.

"Let's do that now," she replied, lifting her finger. "This can be our torrid affair."


	6. Chapter 5

Authors Note: Right, I'm neither dead nor abandoning this story. I did gain employment, which means less time devoted to writing fanfiction. Here, however, is the next chapter of SQHFRGP. For those of you that are OC phobic Cindy is only around for a grand total of two pages or so.

Disclaimer: I make no profit off these little stories, and the characters do not belong to me.

Warning: Oblique references to child sexual abuse.

Duo

Cindy pressed her face against the window as Earth dawned in glory just outside the shuttle. They'd be landing soon, and Duo, sitting with his hand firmly captured by Cindy's bony fingers, tried to see it as she must, as he had the first time. But Cindy was just one more victim of the war's excesses. He'd come on a mission, as a message from the colonies. He'd been a young boy with a stolen Gundam.

Cindy wasn't much younger than he'd been then, but she was a fragile, tiny thing. He could feel every one of the many bones in her hand, and there was a part of his mind that automatically noted the best way to pressure them into breaking. It wouldn't even be difficult. He'd barely have to move.

All the little birds he found were so fragile. People were like those old masterpieces that they had locked away in Earth museums. Pretty, but touch them and you had a pile of colorful dust. It was as if the whole damn universe was made up of nothing but glass and brittle bones. He wanted nothing more than to listen to it crack and shatter as he ran though it arms outstretched, laughing. And he wanted nothing more than to place it on some high shelf, where people like him couldn't reach.

"We'll be landing soon." The flight attendant was a woman in her late thirties, and as she grew close, Cindy began to shake, her eyes wide, her mouth open but unspeaking. Duo grabbed her other hand and squeezed both, until she began to look at him again, instead of staring after the stewardess in a panic.

"Hey. Hey. It's alright. We're almost there. You ever been to Earth?" It was a rhetorical question. Cindy didn't talk in the first place, and anyway the sick bitch who'd been keeping her had a different girl for business trips. Cindy had been strictly the home model. From what Duo had been able to uncover, she'd also been the least favored of the group.

"Trust me hun, you'll love it. Got a place all set up for you. Called ahead. They're gonna fix you right up."

Most the kids Duo dealt with stayed in the colonies. It wasn't like when he'd been growing up, there were some really classy orphanages these days, and a foster care system that led to a lot of permanent family placements. Father Maxwell would have loved to see it. He'd have been proud of Duo's network of connections, if not his chosen line of work. He'd used those connections to place Cindy's 'sisters' but while they'd been understandable wounded, they were still capable of basic speech. Earth still had the best of everything, including the sort of care Cindy would need.

The shuttle landing was rough. Shuttle landings were always rough. Pilots were either war veterans who flew like there were Gundams on their tail or kids straight out of school who flew like they'd never had a Gundam on their tail. The list of people who could fly like Duo could fly, fly like they were in a Gundam on someone's tail, well, it was a short one.

His contact was waiting for him in one of the fast food places that showed up in every shuttleport, regardless of whether they were on Earth or in the colonies. He was a heavyset man drinking a soda, and Duo marked him immediately by the way he kept glancing around, peering into the faces of the crowd, as if he might recognize a man he'd never seen or had described to him. So transparent. Just like glass.

Duo didn't approach him, but touched Cindy's chin lightly to draw her attention up to him. She looked up, her gaze scared but not untrusting. They recognized him. Kids like Cindy, they didn't fear Death. It was the only hope they had. "Okay, Cin. Time for you to go on to bigger, better things. I gotta go."

She opened her mouth, closed it. Shook her head.

"Nuh-uh. I told you, hun. You can't stay with me. Our Lady the General was a very important woman."

Cindy's eyes were red and wet. She made no noise when crying.

"Cindy, she's dead. You saw. She'll never come back. And if anyone so much as looks at you funny, you know I'll be there. I'll know." She clung to his hand so tightly he thought he might be able to teach her some of the little motions that would break a man's fingers. He met his contact's eye, and with a start, the man began to walk over.

"Mr. Piper?" the man asked, "This must be Cinderella."

"She likes Cindy."

The man was soft. He had a doughy face and placid eyes. Cindy stared at him through her tears. There was anger there, but no additional fear. She was okay around men, if not particularly friendly. "Hello, Cindy."

"She can't be left alone. Or be around women. No yelling. No military uniforms. No—"

"The dossier was quite extensive Mr. Piper. She will have the best of care."

"I expect her to." He carefully untangled his fingers from hers and placed her hand firmly in his contact's. Her eyes were broken windows. She made no sound but for a muffled gasp for air. If she'd fought, screamed, he would have felt better. But life had taught her that she was powerless to stop such moments of pain.

He leaned down, placing his hand on her shorn hair. "You've got Death on your side, Cindy." Duo whispered the words against her ear, "I'm watching over you."

The man waited patiently while Duo said his goodbye, and did not reach out to shake his hand. Smiling like a knife, Duo offered a brief, ironic bow. "I admire what you do. Don't disappoint me."

He didn't watch them walk away. There was an empty stool at the nearest bar, and he took his place there, not drinking.

God, this was the hard part. Especially now. This was the first time he'd been back to Earth since he'd said, or not said, goodbye to Wufei. There was a part of him, the grinning, glass-breaking side, that wanted to forget the goodbye, to go there now. He was Shinigami and while he knew they were watching the city for him now, he also knew how easy it was to dodge the stupid kids in their little navy uniforms.

But they'd been circling closer, lately. They were getting reckless, desperate. Une was hungry and she seemed to have a taste for his blood. It'd been close with the Lady General. Une had a sense of his mission at this point and the area had been crawling with her minions. If anything, their presence had proved what he'd suspected.

Une knew. And she was hunting him instead of his targets. His fingers twitched, moved toward the bar as if it were Deathscythe's controls, offering a solution to the problem.

Just blow it the fuck up.

He wanted to break something. Fuck someone. His gaze swept over the bars occupants in one quick predatory motion and landed squarely back on his still full glass. He didn't want to fuck 'someone'. He wanted strength for strength, anger for anger, no questions. He wanted Wufei.

He could—

No.

Maybe just look at the house.

Like a love-struck schoolboy? Ha. No.

The Winner Corp logo flashed on the vidscreen and Duo allowed his attention to be caught. Quatre's people were into everything these days but this was the first he'd seen of actual commercials.

Biblical images.

Adam and Eve with the Angel and his flaming sword. The Angel glowed with holy light. Noah on the ark, haloed by the sun breaking through the clouds still heavy with rain. Moses parting the red sea, his robes made of light. Jesus at the Last Supper, glowing with his Father's Grace. Then—space. A battle, Deathscythe glowing with power against a fleet of mobile dolls. Quatre, sitting at his desk, his hands folded, his smile beatific.

-The Winner Corporation. Bringing Eden Back.-

Duo assured himself that his jaw was not in fact resting on the bar. The vidscreen began broadcasting sports scores.

He paid for his untouched drink and drove to his safehouse. Sat in the dark for awhile.

Dialed.

Quatre

While collecting and looking after his comrades made for a surprisingly time consuming hobby, Quatre was still obliged to tend to the needs of his business. Without the money his considerable financial empire provided, there would be no fortress in the woods, no quiet streams to soothe battle hardened souls. And so, while training with Trowa and attempting to discuss literature with Wufei was entertaining, there were inevitable times when he found himself locked in his office, working through piles of paper and taking calls from across the colonies.

He was negotiating a rather profitable acquisition of a series of mines when his urgent line flashed. Ending the call abruptly, he brought up the new call, and Jana, one of his many sisters came on screen. Her form was rounded, carrying as she was, the next generation of the family. She was biting her lip, not a good sign.

"It's not time yet, is it? You've got two months."

"No, Quatre. I'm fine. I—you have a call. I thought it was just another complaint about the new ad line," She frowned there, it'd been difficult for him to convince anyone of the necessity of the ads, "But, well, he brought up Sandrock."

Quatre froze. The ads had been running for about a month, now. There had been plenty of complaints, he'd expected them. But the list of people who knew to connect Quatre with Sandrock was short, and contained the name of the one man he was trying to reach. And that one was the one who wouldn't know how to reach him directly.

"Put it through." The screen went briefly dark, blinked, then returned to black. Quatre felt a flash of disappointed. He'd wanted so badly to see a grinning face on the screen.

"This is Quatre Winner." Despite hope, there was some danger to the situation. A connection between himself and Sandrock by the wrong party would create complications. He kept his voice level, looked placidly into the screen.

"Hey, you called me." The voice was laughter wrapped in razorwire. Under that, curiosity and simmering tension. And all that was important. But most important, it was Duo, Duo's voice from the darkness.

"Duo."

The vid flashed again. On screen, Duo sat in what looked to be a bare apartment. Wufei was right, he looked too thin. And tired. And like he was wearing his scars and his anger a little too close to the surface. And he was Duo.

"I've been trying to find you for almost three years."

"Been busy."

"Duo, even Heero made time for me."

"You called to yell at me?"

Quatre sighed, leaned back in his chair. He hadn't seen Duo since the war's end. And looking at him, it was like looking at the war again. The others hadn't coped well, and he could admittedly include himself on that list. But Duo read the same as he had when he was still in the thick of it. It was unsettling. And he'd wanted so much for the most social of the other pilots to somehow, settle him. Selfish, he realized.

"I just missed you. We all have."

"Heero cries himself to sleep every night, I'm sure."

"He has his own ways of coping."

"You've been seeing a lot of him?" Duo's voice was skeptical. His smile, mocking.

"Duo, he lives here. We all do."

Silence.

"I've, well, I've built us a place. Somewhere safe. Where we can be ourselves."

"They're all there?"

Quatre began to relax. There was something there in Duo's voice. Something like loneliness that offered a chance that the prodigal might in fact be brought back into the fold.

"Yes. That's why I wanted to talk to you. It's for you too."

Duo shook his head sharply. He was no longer smiling. "I can't. Too dangerous." There was genuine regret hidden beneath the hard surface of the blunt statement. "Wufei's there?"

"I ate breakfast with him." The question wasn't entirely a surprise, but the guilt in Duo's voice was unexpected.

"How is the bastard?"

"Less settled then I'd like. He seems discontent."

Duo gave a brief, barking laugh. "And Trowa?" The question was asked without the same intensity of interest. A cover.

"Adapting the best of all of us, I think. They play chess."

"Huh?"

"Trowa and Wufei."

"Sounds cozy. Like old times."

"Better. Visit us, at least. Please? We—I would really like to see you." Quatre set his own walls aside, speaking with the same open sincerity that had allowed the war to cut so deeply.

"Quatre—" Duo looked away from the screen. "You don't understand."

"This is a secure line. Explain."

A sharp, irritated sigh followed by another mirthless laugh. "God, Quatre, you don't give up."

"It's Une isn't it?"

Duo froze.

"She tried to get my info on you."

"Did you give it to her?"

"I'm not an idiot, or a traitor."

"The ad. She'll know you're trying to contact me."

"There were five ads. Christian, Muslim, Buddhist, Hindu, and Jewish. One for each of the Gundams. Deathscythe just happened to be showing in all the shuttleports."

"People must be pissed."

They were. It didn't matter. Quatre leaned over to his computer, quickly pressing a few keys. "I'm sending you our security specs. I designed the original plans but Trowa, Heero, and Wufei all made modifications."

Silence then, but for some appreciative noises from Duo as he went through the file. "You expecting a Gundam attack?"

"The only Gundam that isn't housed here is yours."

"She'll come after you."

"Good. The others have been getting restless." Quatre summoned a smile of his own, one that matched the wild edge of Duo's.

"I have things I have to do."

"Then let us help you. Let us at least give you a base you know is secure." A pleading edge was entering his voice, and Quatre wouldn't let himself care. This was the last of them. And he was so close.

"You don't know why she wants me."

"I don't care."

Duo's response was a giggle, the sound bubbling up and growing louder as he shook his head. "Fine. Sure. Why the hell not? We can all be one big dysfunctional family."

"I get the feeling sometimes that we always have been."


	7. Chapter 6

Authors Note: Erm. I felt like getting another chapter done. So I did. To all who have commented, watched, or simply read, thank you. I appreciate your continued support. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of the characters, and make no profit from my writing. I do use time that might be profitable if used otherwise to write them. So you could say I lose money...

Quatre

"Sir? One of our systems is showing a slight irregularity. It might be nothing, but--" Irfan, one of the Maganacs assigned to security detail, stood somewhat hesitantly outside the kitchen, where Quatre was arguing with Wufei about how much spice was appropriate in the soup. Who'd think Wufei would be a gourmet?

"I'll take a look at it. Thank you Irfan." He stepped away from the pot, handing the spoon over to Wufei. "I take back what I said. I would be thrilled to sample your recipe."

"If there's a breach—" Wufei began to object.

"If there is a concern, I'll alert everyone, and we will deal with it." Expecting company as he was, Quatre was not yet willing to have everyone running for their Gundams. Though Duo might well enjoy such a welcome.

Irfan was right. Radar was picking up nothing. The cameras showed only the clear sky. No heat signature. But one of the monitors that Heero had hooked up did have a blip on the screen, one that faded and shimmered and tried to claim it wasn't of any importance.

"You know, you are invited." Quatre had set up a basic communications console within his security room, which would serve unless Duo had changed the radio frequency of his Gundam. "You don't have to sneak in."

"I thought we might play 'dodge the missile'." Duo's voice came over the radio, and as it did, a number of the other security screens flared to life. Quatre quickly shut down the automatic alert that threatened to set off exactly the sort of game that Duo had asked for.

"Or you wanted to see if our security was as good as I said it was." Quatre replied mildly, as he told the hanger doors to open.

"Did you tell them I was coming?"

"No. I, well, I didn't want to disappoint them if you decided not to come."

"Quatre, you are protecting the feelings of the wrong group of men." Duo did not hide the amusement in his voice. "I'm landing now."

"I'll meet you at the hangar."

Deathscythe, unlike its pilot, looked to be none the worse for years of wear. It took little more than a glance for Quatre's trained eye to spot the tell-tale signs of modifications made since the war's end. As he was guilty of upgrading Sandrock despite the lack of a war to use him in, he wasn't surprised.

Duo jumped down from his Gundam and bounced across the room to Quatre. He was grinning, his stride was confident, his braid swung jauntily with each step he took. It was harder to see, in person, the warning signs that had been so apparent on vidscreen. It would be easy to believe, as Duo grabbed him enthusiastically and thumped his back, that unlike the rest of them, Deathscythe's pilot was doing just fine.

Quatre was not given to believing easy things.

"Look at that." Duo commented with a whistle, his arm still draped casually around Quatre's shoulders.

It wasn't difficult to figure out what he was talking about. The Gundams stood shoulder to shoulder. Monoliths, glorious monuments to the ingenuity of space.

"We could blow up a whole hell of a lot of shit."

"We already have, Duo."

"Yeah, well, some things never get old." Duo released his shoulder, just to grab his arm and tug him toward the doorway. "C'mon, don't you want to show me off?"

"Not nervous?" Quatre asked, as he led the way through the halls, toward the practice room where he knew Trowa and Heero had been sparring.

Duo snorted at the idea with every sign of derision. If not for the brief tensing of the fingers that held his arm, Quatre might even have believed him.

Trowa and Heero were, as Quatre had expected, still fighting. They entered the practice room as Trowa was in the middle of springing back away from a punch, a move he turned into a graceful flip, twisting in the air to face the doorway. Heero shifted as well, his fighting stance only easing when he recognized the presence he'd no doubt sensed as new.

"This would be what you'd do for fun." Duo shook his head in mock disgust as he walked toward the two of them, his grip still steady, so Quatre was dragged behind like a favorite blanket.

"I found Duo," He announced, needlessly.

"He broke in?" If Heero was happy to see the other pilot, it was hidden beneath irritation at the idea that their security had been surpassed.

"I let him in. The security was ready to blow him out of the air."

To say Heero relaxed was to unfairly exaggerate the slight easing of tension in his shoulders. He simply dialed down to a more appropriate level of tension.

"I thought you might be dead," He stated, his voice devoid of expression. And then, to Quatre's surprise he added, "I had hoped you weren't."

Duo shook his head in response and gave Heero a light shove with the hand that wasn't gripping Quatre, "Nah. If you couldn't kill me, no one else is going to manage."

"I saw you at one of my shows." Trowa said. "You left."

"Sorry. Got nervous when the lady started throwing knives at your head. Didn't want to see you lose an ear." Duo leaned in toward Trowa, his lips pursed thoughtfully. His hand darted upward, tugging on one of Trowa's ears "Looks like you still have them though. Unless those are prosthetics. Huh. Convincing."

"You'll be staying?" Heero asked, apparently disinterested in the state of Trowa's extremities.

"Hmm? Figure I'll bunk here awhile. Trowa, we should really pierce these. I think I've got a needle." He reached back toward his braid.

It was at that point that Trowa pulled away in one sharp movement, stepping sideways and attempting to get Duo in an armlock. Duo, still holding Quatre by the arm, jumped backward and yanked Quatre between them.

"Hey!" Without attempting to break free, Quatre twisted so that Duo became the wall, and he became the one protected.

"Right. Well, clearly Quatre's getting impatient to show me the rest of the house. I'll see you both later." As they exited the room, Duo gave him the mournful look of a starved puppy, "I always thought you'd take a bullet for me."

"Provided you don't deserve it."

"Sure. Sure. You don't think Trowa would look good with pierced ears? Tight leather pants? Dark eyeliner?"

Laughing despite his best efforts to remain stoic, Quatre led them both toward the kitchen. "I would pay to see it."

"We'll get Heero some red hot pants. I mean, he used to wear those spandex shorts, it's not much of a jump. Dye his hair pink. Spike Wufei's hair and rub some of that glitter stuff on his chest. For you, black velvet and lots of silver jewelry. The whole group of us can go clubbing."

"What about you?"

"I'm already sex on—oh."

Wufei was still in the kitchen. He stood by the stove, and by the looks of it, until he'd sensed their arrival, he'd been stirring the soup. Quatre couldn't read his expression and puzzling out the tangle of anger, surprise and hope he was projecting would take time and quiet reflection. This was not Trowa and Heero's easy acceptance of the missing member of their number. There were undercurrents deep enough to drown in, guilt rolling off Duo in waves that might have left Quatre reeling if he hadn't felt their slow build since the pilot's arrival. It was an appropriate moment to retreat, but Duo had not yet released him.

"Wufei."

"Duo."

Silence. The air hummed with tension, like a beam cannon charging.

"Wufei—I'm a bastard."

Wufei didn't object to the label. He didn't speak, either.

"I figured it'd be better if—"

"We don't need to discuss this." Wufei's voice lacked the anger Quatre had expected. "You didn't owe me anything."

"But—"

"Quatre? This is almost done. Just stir it. They're still sparring?"

"Yes," Quatre admitted. "But—"

But Wufei's retreating back was not exactly inviting to conversation. Quatre, not knowing what else to do, began to stir the soup. Regardless, they'd need to eat tonight.

Duo jumped up onto one of the counters, sat with his legs dangling. Quatre watched him, marveling that someone so animated just minutes ago could be so inaccessible. He wanted to offer comfort, but Duo was still smiling.

"Soup?"

"Wufei made it."

"The bastard knows how to cook." Duo leaned over and peered into the pot. "Anyway, I'm gonna go get settled."

"You want me to—"

"Nah. I can find my way."

Quatre stirred. Left alone with a pot of soup, it was what you did. You stirred it. Left alone with four broken soldiers, you fixed them. You listened. You helped.

You watched as they retreated behind their individual barricades and lobbed grenades at anyone who tried to get through.

Duo was supposed to make it easier. He was supposed to be the one to fix Wufei, the one Quatre could talk to.

He'd made Quatre laugh. But jokes were just another grenade. It was the trademark of a Gundam pilot, turning anything at hand as a weapon.

The soup was good. But he doubted anyone would crawl out of hiding for dinner tonight. They'd sneak out later, one at a time. He wondered how long he was supposed to keep stirring.

There was a vidscreen in the kitchen.

He dialed without thinking about it. She'd given him her direct line.

"Quatre?" Relena knew how to use a smile as a weapon too. But she didn't smile. She tilted her head to the side, looking concerned. "You look like you've been wrestling a Gundam."

"I think I may have been."

"You want to talk?" She asked, setting aside the paper she'd been looking over when the screen flickered on.

"You have no idea."


	8. Epilogue

Authors Note: For those who are curious about why this chapter is titled 'Epilogue' please see the author's note at the end of the chapter. For everyone else simply enjoy and know that this particular story will have no further updates.

Warning: Oblique references to child sexual abuse.

Une

"Casualties?" Lady Une asked, her voice more resigned than angry. She had an open folder and a closed envelope on her desk. Her fingers ran over the envelope nervously, though her face remained expressionless.

"None, ma'am. We made no attempts at entry, just brought back the envelope. The explosion was observed from a safe distance." Kay Ridges, the man she'd placed in charge of the Duo issue, was not so expressionless. His hands were clenched in white-knuckled fists as he reported on his team's most recent failure.

"And recovery?"

"As before. The explosion and the resultant fire wiped out everything." His voice was taut with anxiety.

She studied his hands and the tense line of his shoulders as her fingers continued to play over the envelope. It was the only thing successfully retrieved from the site, as Duo had clearly intended. Her name was printed on the front in blocky, almost childish handwriting.

"It was to be expected." She made her words soft. The continued failures were clearly beginning to wear on Ridges and she couldn't afford to have him lose his level head. At least, unlike in the earliest raids, her officers had taken the message of 'Run!' written beneath the envelope seriously. She'd lost good soldiers, when they hadn't.

"I'm sorry, ma'am."

"Nevermind." She looked to the wall, where Treize's portrait hung watching, and collected herself. "This is not an easy thing I ask of you. It is only through your continued dedication that we will bring this menace to justice. You've seen the reports on the last colony he targeted?"

"We've lost seven people. Four more injured."

"Good men," Une agreed. "Continue the search, Ridges. I'm counting on you. Dismissed."

She did not open the envelope immediately after Ridges left. The desire to protect herself from the contents was a cowardly impulse, one Treize would not have experienced in her stead. The thought of him, and another glance toward the wall, gave her the strength to continue.

The pile of photographs inside was wrapped in a note. Duo was succinct, as ever. 'As long as you protect the guilty, I will defend their victims.' Beneath that, General Hadile's picture was mercifully easy to examine. Whether it was the presence of children or professional pride Duo's kills were always surprisingly clean. The other photos were, Une could only assume, from Hadile's private collection. She looked at all of them, memorizing the girl's faces, and studying their dead stares.

After, she put the entire stack back in the envelope with exaggerated care. She stood, still graceful, her posture perfect, and walked to her personal bathroom. It was only after the door was locked that her poise failed her. She vomited until there was nothing but bile left in her, until she was dry heaving, body shaking as she clung to the toilet. She did not, however, cry. Treize had never had much patience for tears.

Back at her desk, she turned her attention to the file she'd been looking over when Ridges had arrived. The latest report from the colony which, until recently, had been under General Hadile's efficient control. The riots were beginning to quiet. The civilian death toll was hovering at just under forty. There were some who would likely die yet, from injuries. And then there was property damage. Loss of revenue. And the loss of life among her own forces. There would be families to contact. Funerals to attend. Perhaps she could talk Relena into joining her, the media always loved that.

Was she so cynical now? She turned to another page in the report, a list of Hadile's likely successors. As yet none of them had succeeded in either winning over enough of the populous, or killing off enough of their rivals. It would happen, though. Nature abhorred a vacuum, even in space.

She touched the envelope again as she looked at the pictures of the Preventers who had died trying to put out this most recent of Duo's fires. Funny. In a generation, perhaps two, she might have sent Duo out herself. The peace would not always be so fragile and he was very good at what he did.

As it was—

As it was, there were two more photographs on Une's desk. One, taken by a shuttleport security camera, showed a young girl holding the hand of a man wearing black. The man had his head down, but the girl looked at him with open trust, a look that Une, having seen another picture of the same girl, would have thought impossible from the child. The other showed a teenager with a similar profile next to a boyish looking girl wearing a beret. Hilde's smile was utterly without shadow.

Une pushed them both away. There were other alternatives she had not yet exhausted. Quatre's information network, for one. Perhaps it was time to arrange a visit. With Trowa now added to Quatre's collection of pilots, it would be unwise not to assess the situation personally. She needed Winner's trust.

She wished, not for the first time, that the Gundam pilots were not so maverick a force. If she could only control them—but no one could. She wished, not for the first time, that she'd had them killed immediately following the war, before they'd collected their defenses.

The latter thought was unworthy. Treize had so admired the young warriors. But he had been an idealist, in his way. It was Une who was left to manage the reality of his vision.

And she was so very tired.

Authors Endnote: Right. So, before anyone panics (not that I think you're all that attached) this is not the end of the story. It is, however, the end of SQHFRGP. I started this story with a lot of goals, but with the knowledge that it would, in the end, be Quatre's story. The story I wanted to tell about Quatre, at least in this manner, is over. He's done what he set out to do. And to be frank, the format I've been using is simply too confining to explore all the subplots and themes I want to work with. I will continue to write this series. I'll probably do at least two or three more multi-chaptered fics, and a number of oneshots all in the universe of SQHFRGP. They will likely be written in a variety of styles and the tone I'm sure will shift a lot between serious and less so. I'll try to keep everything numbered and organized. But this particular fic is complete. The first sequel, 'Sir Maxwell's Guide to the Honorable Sport of Dragon Slaying' will begin shortly.


End file.
